


Like a Sister

by withoutaplease



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutaplease/pseuds/withoutaplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request:  “Open for requests? I would like to have some Sam smut! Maybe one where they are supposed to only sleep but well stuff happens and hands 'accidentally' touch places and ooops~ Have an amazing day :>”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Sister

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Sam x female reader
> 
> Warnings: I mean, smut obviously
> 
> Author’s note: What a coincidence because Sam smut is what I do! (Somehow I think this is not a coincidence.) Thank you for this request honestly because I enjoyed trying to put a newish spin on an old classic. Hope you like!

               You roll over onto your side, for what must be the twentieth time in as many minutes, and sigh heavily.  The bed creaks. You stare at the glowing red digits on the clock beside you.  It’s 3:26am, and even though you know 7:00am comes mighty early, it feels like an eternity away.  You turn again to stare up at the ceiling, trying to follow the blades of the fan with eyelids that are heavy as lead, yet refuse to close.  You sigh, again.

               Next to you, Sam is lying still and breathing evenly, eyelids twitching and expression serene.

               _Bastard._

               On any other night, it wouldn’t have mattered to you that the lone motel in town only had single rooms vacant.  This isn’t the first time you’ve bunked with one of the Winchesters in the middle of a long hunt, and normally when you’re tired, any surface that’s vaguely horizontal will do the trick, regardless of who else may be on it.

               Of course, normally, you haven’t come to the recent and devastating realization that you’ve fallen for one of said Winchesters. Hard.

               Normally, you haven’t resolved to confess those feelings and spent weeks building up the courage to do so, only to be shut down with four tiny words, spoken affectionately, just at the moment you were going to make your move.

               _You’re like a sister._

In the moment, you smiled sweetly and accepted Sam’s chummy shoulder-hug, giving no indication that you were screaming internally.  Consequently, when sleeping quarters were being assigned, you had no reasonable excuse to refuse Sam’s invitation to join him.

               Now, at 3:28am, you wish you’d tried a little harder.  Each time you close your eyes, you’re _aware_ of him.  He’ll shift, or snore, or pull away the bed sheet.  You’ll feel the heat coming off him, or smell his shampoo.  Mostly he does nothing at all, just sleeps quietly, but his weight is there next to you, and so is the weight of your unspoken longing.  The minutes drag by.  You sigh.  You roll over. The bed creaks.

               “Is something wrong?” you hear from the other side of the bed, barely audible but unmistakable. 

               “What?” you reply innocently, doing your best impression of a person who’s been asleep this whole time.

               He isn’t fooled.  “You’ve been thrashing around for the last half hour,” Sam says, sounding half-asleep and impatient.  “You’re kinda keeping me awake.”

               “Sorry,” you say meekly.  “Just having trouble shaking off the day.  I’ll try to be still.”

               “Thank you,” he mutters, nuzzling deeper into his pillow.

               You suppress another sigh and will yourself to relax, eyes returning to the ceiling fan.  _It’s one night,_ you tell yourself. _Just be an adult and wait it out._   Eventually you begin to feel drowsy, and you turn – gently – onto your side.  You close your eyes and start to drift off.

               Not long after, maybe ten minutes, maybe half an hour, you’re awakened from your tenuous slumber.  Sam has shifted over onto your side of the bed – not at all uncommon for a man with limbs the size of small trees – and his ass is planted squarely up against yours.  It feels firm and delicious for the ten seconds it takes you to fully awaken and collect your bearings, and then you jump, rolling to the edge of the bed to put as much space between you as possible and setting the box spring squeaking.

               “Can you not?” Sam says irritably, rolling over to shoot you a look from under his rumpled hair.

               “It’s not my fault,” you retort. “You’re taking up the whole bed!”

               “Fine,” he says, scooting himself over to the opposite edge of the bed.  “Better?”

               You shift back into a more comfortable position. “Thank you,” you echo. 

               “Good night,” he says quietly, head dropping back onto his pillow.  He’s asleep again in minutes.  You are wide, wide awake. 

               Resigning yourself to the fact that sleep is not in the cards for you tonight, you grab your phone from the nightstand and pop the earbuds into your ears.  It’s not much distraction, but shuffling through songs to find ones that don’t remind you of love or sex or tall men in plaid is slightly less unbearable than silence. After the fourth or fifth song, you start to relax and think maybe you still have a shot at a few good hours’ rest. 

               Then Sam rolls over.  He’s not just on your side of the bed this time, he’s on _you_. His head is inches away from yours on your pillow, and his arm is slung over you in the casually affectionate way of a lover, hand neatly cupping your breast.  Your first reaction is to soundlessly scream.  Your second is to briefly contemplate staying still and enjoying the way he feels wrapped around you.  Your third is to put down your phone, carefully wiggle your way out from under Sam’s arm, grab his recently vacated pillow, and bolt.

               You’re almost at the door when he catches you by the wrist, having jumped out of bed and covered the space in two long strides.  “Where are you going?” he demands as you turn to face him.

               “I’m going to sleep in the car,” you answer.

               “Why would you do that?” he presses. “It’s freezing out there.”

               “Because you’re a shitty bunkmate,” you snap, frustrated and exhausted.

               He frowns, more confused than insulted.  “Excuse me?” he says quietly.

               The words are out of your mouth before you think to stop them.  “Why do you even care, Sam? I’m only your _sister_.”

               A few seconds of silence pass between you, in which you flush with embarrassment and Sam’s face softens with comprehension.  You turn and start to leave again, and he puts himself between you and the door before you can get there.    “Sam,” you start, shaking your head, wanting only to get away and hide as close to immediately as possible.

               “ _That’s_ the problem?” he says, leaning down to better look you in the eye.  “That’s why you can’t sleep?” A small smile plays at one corner of his mouth.

               “It’s late,” you demur, turning away from his stare, “can we please just forget about this?”

               He catches your chin between the tips of his thumb and forefinger, and gently turns your face back to him.  “We could,” he says, with a quirk of an eyebrow.  “But I think I have a better solution.”  His smile widens as he waits for your objection.  Seeing none, he takes a firmer hold on your chin and plants a warm, wet kiss on your startled lips. Before you even realize what’s happening, you’re returning the kiss, dropping the pillow from your hands and winding them around his waist.  He wastes no time, his own generous hands moving to cup your ass and pull you up against him while his tongue pushes its way between your lips and slides past your teeth.  You feel him getting hard through his jeans, and he subtly swivels his hips, grinding himself into you.  You break away from the kiss for air, exhaling in a moan. He bends to sweep kisses along your jaw, and your neck, and beneath your ear.                

               “Have you always thought about this when you sleep next to me?” he breathes against your ear, giving you goosebumps. You try to answer, but his lips and tongue working tenderly against the skin of your neck have rendered you speechless. All you can manage is a whimper. Into your other ear, he whispers, “I never would’ve called you ‘sister’ if I’d known.”  He skims his hands up from the seat of your jeans and under the back of your shirt, unhooking your bra and sweeping both garments up over your head.  He exhales in a hiss as he takes in the view of your bare breasts, nipples raised and skin flushed.  He slows in his hurry for a moment to cup them in his hands, slightly callused fingertips grazing your nipples, making you shudder.  He dips his head down to nuzzle between your breasts, leaving warm, wet kisses along your collarbone on the way.   He catches one of your nipples gently in his teeth, and you bring up one of your hands to tangle fingers into his hair as he sucks it, sending sparks of arousal right through to your core, setting it throbbing.

               Your other hand pulls at the hem of his t-shirt, and he’s upright in a second tugging it up and over his head.  Then you’re swept up in his arms, the feel of his firmly muscled chest delicious pressed into your breasts, his lips on yours again with urgency.  When you suck hard on his lower lip, he grunts and lifts you up, half-walking and half-carrying you away from the door and up against the kitchenette table a few feet away.  He kisses you there until your lips are ruddy and swollen, your hands roaming over each other’s bodies, until finally his fingers settle on the button of your jeans and he works them open.  Then he pulls away from the kiss and looks you in the eye, pupils blown, lips parted and panting.

               “Turn around,” he says, and even though his voice is hushed and breathy, there’s no mistaking it’s a command. When you comply, he uses one hand to gently guide you down until you’re folded in half, breasts pushed into the cool surface of the table. He sweeps his hand back down the length of your bare back, and then in moments he’s got your jeans and panties down over your hips and around your ankles.  He pauses there on his knees to skate his fingertips up the sides of your legs, tickling over your thighs and kneading into your buttocks. Then he pulls your legs apart, as much as the jeans still pooled at your feet will allow, and moves between them to lap his tongue slowly over the lips of your pussy, nudging them apart and tasting the product of the evening’s frustration, making you gasp. You purr in appreciation when he zeroes in on your clit, flicking his tongue back and forth against it languidly. He keeps it up until you’re squirming, as much as you can in such a vulnerable position, feeling the beginnings of an orgasm just out of reach at the pace he’s maintaining.  Mewling, needful sounds escape with each of your breaths, culminating in a sputter of frustration when he stops licking and gets back on his feet.

               You raise yourself up on your arms and crane your neck to look at him, watching as he unzips his jeans and releases his cock from his underwear.  You wait, exposed, while he takes his time with a condom.  His lip curls in a smirking grin at you as he approaches, and when he lands one hand on your shoulder and the other on his cock, lining himself up at your opening, you close your eyes and brace yourself.  You’ve been wet since you got into bed with him, and by now you’re so slick that he glides into you easily, smooth and thick.  You moan as he hilts himself, the angle bringing him squarely into contact with your g-spot, and as he slides back for another thrust, he throws a forearm over your chest and holds you up close.  You arch your back to meet his thrusts as he grunts his pleasure into your ear. 

               “That’s so good, (Y/N),” he whispers raggedly, picking up his pace.  He moves his arm from your chest and supports you instead with a hand splayed just at the base of your neck, along your collarbone.  You push back against his every thrust, each impact against your sweet spot sending fresh stars bursting before your eyes, breasts bouncing wantonly as he fucks you hard and with abandon.  You hear your own voice crying out as you start to come unravelled, and just when you’re sure that it’s more than you can take, he shoves the fingers of his free hand down between your legs, finding your clit and rubbing it ruthlessly.  It’s too much, and you come screaming, head thrown back, juices dripping down your thighs, Sam’s face buried in your shoulder.  He holds you up when your legs give way, and when he lets himself go, he groans his appreciation into your ear.  Once his orgasm is spent, he lets you down onto your arms and kisses your head, your shoulders, your neck before he pulls out of you and steps away, gathering clothes from the floor.

               You stand there frozen, leaning against the table, catching your breath.  Slightly in shock.  Sam goes into the bathroom and emerges a minute later in his t-shirt and boxer-briefs, and that’s around the time you realize that your jeans are still around your ankles.  You crouch down and attempt to modestly pull them back up, reflecting that modesty’s pretty much out the window at this point.  Sam sits on the edge of the bed and watches you, bemused.  You settle on stepping out of your jeans and pulling up your panties. You take a couple steps towards him, unsure what to say.

               He speaks before you have the chance to figure it out.  “Now,” he says gently, “can we _please_ go to sleep?”

               “Don’t you think we should talk about wha-“ you start, and he silences you with a finger over your lips.

               “I promise you,” he says, sincere despite the grin on his face, “we will talk.  We will talk until we’re blue in the face.”  He takes his finger away and plants a quick, open kiss in its place.  Then he clasps your hands in his and looks up at you pleadingly.  “But in the morning, okay?”

               You give a small laugh, and let him pull you up onto the bed.  This time, when his arm drapes over you and his head falls onto your pillow, sleep follows easily.


End file.
